101st Hunger Games: Deadly Attachments
by MsAir
Summary: The last Quarter Quell was a disaster. The President of Panem was already regretting his decision for seven Victors. To make it up, this year's Hunger Game will own its own secret. "We'll make it the twist they've always expected yet dreaded. The twist that will have mothers quiver with anxiety but teenagers vying to volunteer." SYOT/SYOC. (Closed for now)
1. The Ultimate Prize

The 101st Hunger Games: Deadly Attachments

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: The Hunger Games doesn't belong to me.<strong>

**Hello. This is a SYOT (abbreviation for Submit Your Own Tribute), just in case you didn't know. It's my first time doing, so please tell me what you think. More information is below. Happy reading!**

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><p><em><strong>President Nectario Iphus<strong>_

_The President's Household_

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><p>The president of Panem sat by the window in his dimly lit room, his eyes trained on the visual images transmitted on his television screen. The recaps of the past Quarter Quell, the 100th Hunger Games, were certainly disappointing. '<em>Well, until the last half, that is<em>', he thought.

The kind inhabitants of the Capitol had elected Iphus as President twelve years ago to replace the late President Snow. The former President had lived until he was 88 years old, and died of old age. '_A long, glorious life he lived_,' thought the current president.

Nectario Iphus was the youngest president Panem has ever been blessed with. At forty-six years of age, he took over the long line of rulers of the country, and of course, maintained their clear visions. Now, he was fifty-eight years old. He was smarter and the Hunger Games were his to control.

Sweat and angry cries were exuded from the teenagers on screen as they battled out for their right as victors. The girl from District 1 swung her axe, and it thudded into a tree as her district partner ducked. A stab from his dagger made her freeze. Blood gushed out of her mouth as he twisted his knife deeper into her abdomen.

With a flick of the remote, the screen changed. Iphus sighed heavily as he saw the seven victors on stage, sharing their honored win of the 4th Quarter Quell. It was a mistake to allow seven districts to gain a Victor, but it already happened. Nothing could be changed.

A rap on the door made Iphus pause the TV. "Come in," he said.

The door opened to reveal his newly elected Head Gamemaker, Mandrew Sibley. A tall, lean man clad in a classy grey coat walked in. "Good evening, sir," he bowed in greeting. "You asked for me?"

"Indeed, I did," replied the President, sitting up straight. "You do remember how the past Quarter Quell had the, uh, _lowest_ appraisal in the history of the Hunger Games, yes?"

"I am aware of that, sir," Sibley nodded. "I am hoping to make up for those games this year."

"Yes, of course. We wouldn't want another Jovan now, do we?" Iphus raised an eyebrow, almost as if he was threatening the newly appointed head Gamemaker.

Sibley gulped nervously at the mention of last year's Head Gamemaker. He had conveniently—and also suspiciously—resigned after the Victory Tour. Firmly, he responded with, "I assure you, sir, nothing of the sort will occur under my command."

"And I'll make that sure too," said the President. Picking his remote up, he changed the TV to show Sibley a recap of another Hunger Game—the 3rd Quarter Quell. "Do you remember this year, Sibley? The star-crossed lovers; Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark?"

"I remember, sir. The District 12 Victors from the previous year."

"And the ratings for that year…was unusually high, wasn't it?"

Sibley shuffled his feet, nodding uncertainly. "It's unmistakable, sir. The Quell had Victors fighting for their lives."

"Yes, but most attention were on three Districts only," answered Iphus. He narrowed his eyes on the images of the District 1, District 4 and District 12 tributes. "Cashmere and Gloss, brother and sister from District 1. Katniss and Peeta, lovers from District 12. Finnick Odair and Mags Whiten, an affectionate unrelated mother and son from District 4. Is was a rather saddening Game, with the favorite sibling Victors, Ms. Everdeen being pregnant, the wedding, an old tribute, and so on, wasn't it?"

At a loss to where his president was going to, Sibley only nodded. "I suppose so, sir."

A moment passed, with Iphus thinking hardly. Not a minute later, he smiled in satisfaction. "I have an idea for the tributes this year, Mr. Sibley. If you would consider…?"

Knowing that he had no other choice, Sibley nodded. "Yes, sir. What do you propose?"

"A twist," the President announced. "We'll make it the twist they've always expected yet dreaded. The twist that will have mothers quiver in anxiety but teenagers vying to volunteer."

"But…it's, um, not a Quarter Quell, sir. Twists are only-"

"The last Games were horrible, you agree? To make it up, we shall convolute this Game," said Iphus firmly, leaving no room for arguments. "I propose a twist everybody has once thought of at least once in their lives. A Hunger Game with relatives, lovers, siblings and the best of friends as district partners. Twelve pairings with relationships of their own."

Sibley's eyes widened for a moment, before he smiled a little. "That's actually feasible, sir. We can get that done."

"Good."

"But may I ask, sir...what do you mean by _vying to volunteer_?"

"I have that under control. Oh, and don't reveal the twist, if you will, Mr. Sibley. We'll make them figure out that attachment on their own," the president said. "In the mean time, I have an announcement to make."

"Very well. An announcement, sir? About the Games?" Sibley inquired.

"Certainly. The reapings so far have been quite boring, don't you think?" he smirked malevolently. "Let's ensure a more, uh, _interesting_ reapings. Like I said, I have it under control," he said, tugging his coat on properly. Before he could step out of his room, he added, "And don't forget, Mr. Sibley. _No matter who_ volunteers, they both must have an attachment to each other."

"But what if the second tribute volunteers? And they are not related?"

"Then make sure they volunteer because of the first tribute."

With a wicked smile of his own, the Head Gamemaker nodded and trailed behind the President of Panem, excited to hear what else the President has in store.

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><p>As he stood behind the blinds separating him from the podium, Iphus remembered the potential threat almost two and a half decades ago.<p>

Katniss Everdeen—the girl on fire.

Fortunately for the Capitol she died in the 75th Hunger Games. When her lover hit the forcefield, he stopped breathing immediately. Even with the cardiopulmonary resuscitation from the District 4 victor, it was already too late. Katniss Everdeen soon met her end after hearing his tortured screams through the Jabberjays. She shut down and was eventually killed by Enobaria, the District 2 Victor.

_Such a love_, Iphus thought. _Such a love they owned_. The same thing was seen with Cashmere and Gloss and Finnick and Mags. They all died. The rest of the Career pack and Johanna Mason died at the hands of Beetee from District 3. His idea to electrocute them succeeded.

The threat was eliminated, but the Capitol was furious. They let their voices out after the death of Katniss Everdeen and her unborn baby. They hated the fact that the Victors they grew to love had all died—except for one of course. But to say the least, Beetee was never really their favorite Victor.

President Iphus knew what steps to walk on to avoid any raises of mutiny. He knew that the District couldn't live with too much control and poverty. So kindness every once in a while was what needed to be served.

That was why he allowed seven Victors for the 4th Quarter Quell. He was feeling generous—but then realized maybe he was _too _generous. The Districts started showing their thanks to the Capitol, and that was good.

But they must know that it was never repeating again.

"You're on in a minute, sir," someone said, snapping him out of his thoughts.

President Iphus lifted a palm, acknowledging the person. He waited patiently until the signal for him to go was shown. He stepped out into the flashing lights, embracing the cameras recording him and the admiring cheers from his fellow Capitolians. Stepping onto the podium, the President smiled.

"Citizens of Panem. It is my honorable duty to announce the 101st Hunger Games," he started, receiving a loud applause from his audience. Grand drumrolls played in his background as his lips curved. "But that isn't all."

The crowd immediately silenced, straining their ears to listen to their President carefully. Nectario Iphus smiled evilly. He was certain that his idea would secure multiple volunteers. Other than that, he was feeling generous. And the Capitol's generosity is never bad.

"During the last Quarter Quell, the generosity of the Capitol had permitted seven victors," he began; resulting in loud hurrahs and whoops from his spectators. "And to remind you that the Capitol's generosity has not run out," he paused, smirking wickedly to the cameras filming him.

"The sole Victor for this year's Hunger Games will possess the ability to grant his or her family immunity from the games…for as long as they all shall live."

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><p><strong>I hope the prologue was okay and it didn't sound too far-fetched. Tell me what you think! This is my first time writing a SYOT. The forms and rules are all in my profile, but don't worry, it's mostly loose. I'm not going to pressure you into not sending in a type of tribute or chide you if your OC is too perfect. You can feel free to do submit <strong>_**any**_** type of tribute you want! All submissions only through PM though, please. I hope to receive lots of tributes and reviews! :)**

**Oh, and just know that I am working on a Maze Runner fic, so my main focus will be on that, but I'll make sure this story holds my attention too and will be frequently updated!**

**Thanks for reading!**


	2. District 7 Reapings

**Disclaimer: I am not Suzanne Collins.**

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><p><span>Chapter 2: District 7 Reapings<span>

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><p><em><strong>Antony Roverkin, Victor of District 7<strong>_

_Reaping Day, District 7_

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><p>The entire place was crowded with the people of District 7. Young teenagers ranging from twelve to eighteen years of age walked, in groups, to their specified areas. The stage bustled with people scuttling here and there, prepping the forthcoming event that would start in about ten minutes.<p>

Antony Roverkin exhaled heavily as he sat next to another mentor, Pierca Duval. This was his first year being a mentor alongside Pierca, and he sure as hell wasn't ready. Besides, he only won the 100th Hunger Games because he hid and his district partner was killed.

If it weren't for the unforeseen rule change for seven Victors, he would've been dead.

A few slowly torturous minutes later, he heard the obnoxious sounds of click clacking from behind him. Parris, the District 7 escort, scampered forward to her microphone. Her frilly fuchsia peplum top bounced along with her light steps, and her tight-fitted skirt looked as if they were tape glued to her thighs. A cheery laugh escaped her lips as she smiled broadly and clasped her hands.

"Welcome, welcome!" she sang, staggering slightly from her seven inch heels. "Welcome all to the reapings of the 101st Annual Hunger Games!"

The audience didn't respond as she hoped them to—similar to every single year—and her smile fell for a moment. It was back in a jiffy though, and she grinned, showing off her pearly white teeth. Antony scoffed silently, convinced that they wouldn't be that white without any artifice.

Antony's mind wandered away as Parris invited the Mayor to give a speech, and let himself think of the President's prize change this year. Not only the victor will receive a place in the Victors Village, but also the chance to secure their family from the future Hunger Games. He wondered if they would stay true to rule, or revoke it at the last minute.

Now, if it was Antony down there, he would surely volunteer. The prize was what every citizen in every district coveted. Of course, there was a big risk of dying, but the chance was all they needed. He was looking forward to who would volunteer for the Games to help their family.

"Now, that was a lovely speech from District Seven's mayor, wasn't it?" Parris's chirpy voice asked rhetorically. With no response from the crowd, she sniffed slightly and turned to the girl's bowl. "Well, we can move on to the reapings, I guess."

That was how straightforward reapings were in District 7. No playing around, jokes, or theatrics like they had in District 1 and 2. Everything was solemn—as it should be. '_They're sending children off to murderous reality shows_,' thought Antony bitterly.

"Oh, this is so exciting!" tried Parris again, squealing as she held a folded piece of paper in her hand. Opening the sheet, she grinned and announced: "Fawn Elkers!"

The silence lasted for only a while before it was broken again. "Fawn Elkers?" Parris called, her eyes surveying the girl's section. "Where are you, dearie?"

Antony's eyes fell on a tall, gangly body of a girl, clad in only a faded pale dress. As the ocean of girls parted to give her way, she blinked in shock. When her dark eyes landed on Parris though, who urged her to come up to the stage, it quickly turned into a frown. Walking through the pathway created, she casted dark and intimidating looks toward the cameras.

"Now, dear. Your name?" Parris asked happily, and also stupidly.

"You just called me up not two minutes ago," Fawn replied, cocking an unamused eyebrow.

Smirking, Antony mused, '_Maybe this girl could be of use_.'

Parris's smile faltered as she giggled nervously. "Er, right. And, um, how old are you?"

"Sixteen," Fawn answered curtly, her eyes searching the crowd and landing on a little girl at the back of the rows, who was bawling her eyes out.

"Wonderful!" said Parris, turning to the crowd once more. "Now, for the boys," she sang and laughed gleefully, keeping up her escort persona. She dug her fingers through the mass of names and quickly removed the unlucky one from the others.

Beaming at the cameras, Parris clapped her hands. "Can Kurtis Fax-"

"I volunteer!" a voice shouted.

"No, _I _volunteer!"

Antony sat up straight in his seat, thoroughly interested at the double volunteers. The area quieted down as the two boys raced forward, only to be captured by Peacekeepers. Antony observed the two boys, smirking.

One boy had tanned skin, shaggy dark hair and an extremely angular jaw. He was a looker all right, and could easily gain sponsors, but he wasn't very muscular. The other boy however, didn't have much pretty features, but was taller and more brutish-looking.

"Oh my, how wonderful! Two volunteers!" Parris exclaimed in excitement. "Come on up, boys. Both of you."

The peacekeepers escorted the two boys—who were giving each other murderous stares—safely up the stage. Immediately, the good-looking boy stepped to the microphone and said, "I volunteer."

"No way, _I'm_ volunteering," the other boy countered fiercely. "I'm doing this for my family, Roshan. You already have it all. Get off this stage."

"Who do you think you are? I said _I'm _volunteering," the other boy, 'Roshan' replied angrily.

The burlier boy advanced closer intimidatingly, and Parris quickly piped up. "Okay! This is, uh, very different. Um…Mr. Mayor," she called sweetly, hiding her nerves from the two boys on stage. "Onward with the second stage of reapings?"

Antony raised a confused eyebrow, not understanding what 'second stage of reapings' meant. The mayor darted his eyes between the two boys, lingering just a little bit longer on 'Roshan'. Then I realized the resembling last names—Roshan.

The boy was the mayor's son.

"Very well," he responded deeply.

As someone brought out a stand, a glass bowl and a few pieces of papers, Antony comprehended what was about to take place—a reaping just for the two volunteers. He suspiciously looked at the Head Peacekeeper on the stage, pondering if this new way of choosing between two or more volunteers had anything to do with the games.

Both the boys wrote their names on three pieces of the papers, folded it, and dropped it into the bowl. With tense anticipation, the cameras zoomed in to Mayor's hand waving about above the papers. Randomly, he closed his eyes and picked one. Something seemed to bother him when he unfolded the paper, and his eyes squinted, as if someone was telling him something.

Antony's eyes narrowed on the tiny device located in the Mayor's ear.

With a stony face, he read out: "Elm Roshan."

"Wonderful!" Parris laughed, throwing her hands up in the air.

As the other boy was being dragged away by the Peacekeepers, Elm took his place next to the girl tribute, Fawn. They exchanged a quick look, before the girl turned away furiously. Elm's face seemed to fall for a moment, before he picked it back up and smiled at the cameras.

Antony raised an eyebrow at his fellow mentor, Pierca, silently asking whether she was hiding some unknown information from him. Pierca only smiled wickedly.

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><p><em><strong>Fawn Elkers, 16<strong>_

_District 7_

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><p>Peacekeepers led me inside the Justice Building and locked me inside a waiting room. All the shock that filled me when I was reaped was gone. It wasn't exactly surprising, really. My family wasn't the richest in District 7. I applied for tesserae a lot—I was certain to get reaped someday.<p>

What I wasn't thoroughly excited with was the fact that _he _volunteered.

I would have preferred the other boy, honestly.

A knock on the door made me stand up. It burst open not a minute later to reveal my sister, Gwen. "Oh, Fawn!" she cried, wrapping her tiny arms around me tightly. "Don't go! You _can't _go, no!"

"I have to, Gwen. I'm so sorry," I said, hugging her back.

"B-but…but y-you…" she sniffed, hiccupping here and there. Her voice cracked when she uttered, "You'll d-die."

"Fawn's _not_ going to die," my older brother, Pine, chimed in. He sent me a hard stare, mentally conveying a '_you can do this' _message. "Fawn can use an axe. She's great with the axe. And she's clever. She can come back, okay, Gwen?"

Gwen continued sobbing silently, shaking her head in my shoulder. "But Elm's going to be there," she muttered, making me tense up. "You can't hurt Elm. He's your best friend!"

Pine snorted. "Elm can go suck it. He's the one who volunteered…the asshole."

"Pine," I warned. "Not now."

My brother sighed and rubbed his temples. "Man, you-this is stupid-I don't-shit," he groaned in frustration. Without any warning, he pulled my sister and I into a firm hug. "You _gotta_ come back, Fawn. Gwen and I need you, okay? You have to_ try_ and come back."

"I'll win," I nodded softly, looking upwards to not let the tears in my eyes fall. "I'll win for Gwen, the baby and all of us. We won't have to worry about the Hunger Games anymore, no one else will die…there won't be another Maple."

Pine stiffened, and hugged me even tighter. "Just come back. That's all that matters now."

"At least Kurtis doesn't have to go," I said, addressing the original boy that was reaped—he was our cousin. "But now Elm is," I grumbled in annoyance.

"Elm can go hit a forcefield for all I care," Pine huffed. "Do what's best for _you_, not him. You don't care about him. He made his choice, remember?"

I frowned, the memory of Maple's pale, sickly body clear in my mind. I squeezed my eyes shut and nodded vigorously, releasing a shaky breath. "Okay."

Pine let me go and heaved in an emotion-filled breath. He rubbed his eyes, turning away from both Gwen and I. I diverted my attention to my angelic sister, who had her mouth trembling slightly.

"Gwen? Hey, look at me," I said soothingly, cupping her face. "I'll come back okay? I'll get us that house in the Victor's village, and then you can buy all the things you ever wanted. You can even open a craft store if you want. And then we can take care of the baby in mommy's tummy. Okay?"

Gwen mumbled out a soft, "okay." She dug her hand into her pocket and pulled out a small tree she carved out earlier that day. She took her necklace off and removed her own neatly carved charm. Swooping the black cord through the mini tree, she then clasped it around my neck. "Mommy said I could give you something."

I looked down at the necklace and gave her a tearful smile. "It's beautiful, Gwen. I love it."

Gwen smiled widely and kissed my cheek. "You have to come back, okay?"

"I'll come back," I responded determinedly.

"You better," Pine scoffed, his eyes slightly red. "But just in case you, uh, you know…die," he said, rolling his eyes to cover up the water welling there. "Tell Maple I said hi."

I laughed, although it sounded more like a strangled sob. Even in times like this, Pine could find it in himself to take things lightly. I was going to miss him. I bent down to give Gwen a final hug as the doors opened—ready to take my brother and sister away from me.

"Fawn!" yelled Gwen as she and Pine were forcefully taken away by the Peacekeepers. She trashed against their hold, and ended up propped on one Peacekeeper's shoulder, her hand extended towards me. "I love you, Fawn! Please come back!"

The doors shut with a loud _boom_, muting every tone of sound that could possibly be perceived. As the torturing silence crept up all over my skin, I finally let my tears fall. Hunching my back and muffling my sobs, I cried for everything that went wrong today. I was going into the Hunger Games, I won't have my siblings around me anymore, I won't be there for my unborn sibling's birth, and I had to fight for my life. Adding to that, I would have to battle my former best friend.

All over again it hit me like a train—I might not see my family ever again.

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><p><em><strong>Elm Roshan, 16<strong>_

_District 7_

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><p>"You made the wrong move, boy," my father chided, pacing in front of me. "You should <em>not<em> have volunteered."

My head bowed in make-believe shame, just to satisfy him and make things easier between us. "Yes, sir."

I couldn't let him know that I volunteered to protect Fawn. I've been her best friend since we were kids, but then something got in the way. The last time we spoke was two years ago, and even with the pesters and pleads I made; she refused to talk to me.

Now was my chance though. I couldn't let Fawn die in the Games. I knew that she obviously hated me, but I certainly didn't. Perhaps the short time together with her could mend our friendship. I've missed her these past years.

All I knew was that she was going to survive.

"No one should have volunteered," said the Mayor. "The Faxton boy was supposed to go in. _He_ was reaped. You teenagers acting so rash and wanting to be heroes for your family…you're all immature."

At my father's rant, I rolled my eyes. "Yes, _sir_. I understand."

"Don't talk to me like that, boy," my father snapped. "I've given you everything—food, money, a house, education—what more do you want? What will you get from winning the Games? You should have just let the other boy go. They would've been mad but at least it wasn't you."

"Then why didn't you let him?" I snorted, already tired of standing so still. "Why didn't you just lie and call out his name? Not like anyone was peeking."

The Mayor stopped his pacing to stand before me. His eyes narrowed as he said, "I _did _lie."

I blinked, not fully comprehending. "What?"

"I _did_ lie, son," my father repeated. "The name I pulled out was his—not yours."

"No, but…wait-what?" I inquired, confused. "I mean, wh-why…why did you-"

"Orders, boy," was the only thing he uttered, tapping on the black device in his left ear. "Strict orders. You have history with the girl."

My brows furrowed at the mention of Fawn. Feeling a tad bit overprotective, I asked, "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Oh, my dear boy," my father started, looking out the only window in the room melancholically. "It has to do with everything. These Games aren't all as they seem."

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><p><em><strong>Antony Roverkin, Victor of District 7<strong>_

_The Train_

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><p>I sat by the fireplace, waiting for the tribute to hop onto the train. With a bottle of wine in my hands, I leaned against the sofa. The boy tribute came in first.<p>

"I'm Elm," he introduced himself simply.

Doing a quick scan over, I figured that he could maybe attract a few sponsors. Hopefully, the son of the mayor wasn't spoilt and at least knew how to fight. I waved my hand in acknowledgement and took another swing of my bottle.

A few minutes later, the girl tribute arrived. Her bloodshot eyes found Elm, and turned angry. Pierca—my fellow mentor—noticed too. She sat down by the table to enjoy any possible outcomes.

When Elm saw Fawn, his face lit up. However, when he noticed her furious strides, the smile fell. He backed away just as Fawn shoved him back roughly. "_You_!" she exclaimed in rage. "I can't believe you!"

"Fawn, hey," Elm greeted nervously. "Uh…what's up?"

"Why would you do that? It isn't enough that you let my sister die, and now you want to kill me too?" Fawn shouted angrily.

My eyebrows raised in curiosity. '_Now, this can get interesting_.'

"N-no," Elm answered quickly. "I don't want to kill-"

"Then what? You want the prize? Immunity?" she sneered accusingly. "You're already the Mayor's son! You have everything you need. What else do you want from me?"

"Fawn, just listen," he pleaded, his face twisted into a pained expression. "I didn't volunteer for any-"

"You should've let the other boy volunteer. At least he had something to fight for," she continued interrupting him rudely. "You have it all!"

Elm kept shaking his head and motioning for her to stop, but she refused to oblige. "Listen to me! I just-"

"When are you going to leave me alone? When my whole family's dead? You're starting with me in the Games so you can get away with it?"

"No, you don't get it-"

"Just stop, Elm. Let us live in peace! Why were you so stupid enough to volunteer? You shouldn't have! I don't even know-"

"I just want to protect you!" he yelled, cutting her off in frustration. When he saw her stunned expression, his face softened. Rubbing his forehead, he sighed heavily. "I just wanna protect you, Fawn, alright? Damn it, you're my best friend. I'm sorry I couldn't save Maple-"

Before he could utter more words, an angry, stinging pain slapped his cheek. The harsh, resounding blow left the space completely silent, with their audience—their escort and lovely mentors that includes me—in complete shock. Elm blinked, taking a step back to stare at Fawn in disbelief. His hand rested on the throbbing sensation on his face.

"Don't say things you don't mean, you _liar_," Fawn spat, livid tears running down her cheeks. "You were always against me—from the first day we met. You never cared about me or Maple…you _hate _my family."

Elm shook his head, still determined to get her to listen. "Fawn, no. I just-"

"Stop! Just…just stop talking. Don't talk to me," she whispered, almost painfully. Elm's face twisted once again but she only frowned angrily and proceeded to wipe the tears off her face. She inched closer to Elm and clenched her jaw. "You know what, Elm?" she started, intimidatingly calm. "You better watch out in that arena, cause if it comes down to only you and me in there…"

"…I won't hesitate to kill you."

With that, she stormed off into another room, leaving Elm stupefied and speechless. Pierca raised her eyebrow, looking impressed as her eyes trailed Fawn's figure out, while Parris muttered something about violence. I finally regained my senses when she left to chase after Fawn.

"Man, that is some cooked up drama," I snickered. "This is my new reason to love being behind the scenes."

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><p><strong>Fawn and Elm were submitted by darling . so . dramatic. Thank you for that! <strong>

**I hope both they came out okay and didn't seem too melodramatic. I probably won't be writing all the reapings like this, and maybe some from TV's or skipped, but I'll make sure to focus on every tribute at some point in this story. The next will be the District 6 tributes.**

**To the ones who reserved spots…please send in your characters! I'd love to receive them all and figure out all the allies and how their story will play out. But tell me what you think on these two!**

**Thanks for reading :) **


	3. Reapings of Siblings

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games**

**Thank you to **_somberrimshot__**, **__darling. so. dramatic__**, **_**and **_Cerseii _**for reviewing the last chapter. :)**

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><p><span>Reapings of Siblings<span>

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><p><em><strong>Dylan Evanson, 17<strong>_

_District 8_

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><p>"Come on, Dee! We don't have all day!" I hollered, quickly making my way down the stairs. I grabbed my jacket and put in on, unlocking the front door. No car was outside—not much of a shocker there.<p>

Bright lights adorned the streets of District 8 as I walked out to our front porch. A few teenagers strode across the street happily, joking around and wearing fashionable clothes. Lights from several cars drove by, their engines blaring loudly. I sighed and rested against a pillar while waiting for my sister. The festive lanterns and lighthearted attitude from most citizens could only represent one thing in District Eight.

It was time for reapings, and most people were excited. Of course, we weren't as volunteer-crazy as District One, Two and Four, but we liked the chances of victors birthing from District Eight. Oh, and did I forgot to mention?

District Eight was now a Career District. Indeed.

Every person in the district had knowledge of how that came down in history. It was the first thing each child learned in kindergarten. Of course, they further reminded us—with more precise detail—in our first years of middle school and high school just so we would remember.

After the seventy-fifth Hunger Games, any signs of '_revolutionary individuals_' were destroyed. They said that the spark of it all came from two District Twelve tributes—Katniss Everdeen and Peeta…something. I couldn't remember. He didn't really matter though, since the true heroine of it all was Katniss.

The story was that Katniss' death opened the district's eyes, and brought them peace. The Capitol simply presented District Eight with a training center for their 'loyalty' to stay true to them unlike the other rebellious districts. The story was vague, but it possessed many 'good' traits that came from the Capitol.

I knew none of that was true though. The real story was told to my twin sister and I almost a thousand times. Our grandparents were one of those from back then who are still wisely alive now.

After Katniss' death, apparently, a few districts raised furors. District Eight was one of the hardheaded districts. They kept on showing their dislike to the Capitol, and they never backed down. After a few failed tries of torture, Peacekeeper punishments and more, they opted for a better way to gain the District's support.

Textile was District Eight's specialty, but many designers lived in the Capitol. The government sent a few top designers to District Eight to tutor them in designing glamorous, marvelous, Capitol-styled clothing. Not even a few months later, the District was already gaining attention from clothes-lovers across the country. Many Capitolians and known celebrities from everywhere took vacations to District Eight to go shopping.

Finding the money they made as useful, the District carried on making beautiful, classy clothes for the Capitol, and as everyone knew, the Capitol was generous.

A training center was provided after two years of the District contributing to the Capitol, and all bad blood was diminished. Unlike the old envisages of District Eight, the new and improved District Eight was decorated with countless of colorful lights, stylish buildings, classy clothing and joyful laughter all around.

My sister and I never actually experienced what our grandparents and parents felt during Katniss Everdeen's time, but by the looks of it, I should be thanking her. I loved District Eight the way it was now. I was capable of using a bow and arrow, and I could fight. District Eight had gained many Victors in the past few years.

"Delia!" I yelled, groaning when she replied with a loud 'wait!' "Mary-Kate's waiting! I'll leave if you don't come down in two seconds!"

"I said wait!" my twin shouted as she ran down the stairs, her shoes and coat in her hand. "You need to learn how to be patient. Sheesh."

I snorted, throwing the keys at her. "You should learn how to not be so slow."

Sticking her tongue out childishly at me, Delia swiftly caught the keys, put on her shoes and coat and brushed her brown hair into place. I couldn't help but snort when she stood up straight, acknowledging her shortness. She sent me a dirty look. I turned to lock the door as Delia observed the vacant car porch.

"Mom and dad aren't back yet?" she asked, her face in a tight frown. "But today…today's reaping day."

Shrugging, I walked past her and said, "They love travelling and we have to go to school. Not much we can do. It's not like they're going to miss anything, though. It's just another reaping."

"Well, yeah, but it's not just '_another_ _reaping'_. Kids are being sent to die for god's sake." Delia retorted, keeping up with my strides.

"Obviously, our lovely parents don't care about them," I answered, rolling my eyes.

"What if one of_ us _gets reaped?"

I halted abruptly, turning to stare at her with a scowling face. I loved my sister, I do. Only sometimes, she can be extremely negative. "Delia, you say a lot of stupid things, seriously."

When I continued to walk past her, she sighed. "I'm just saying! Anything can happen."

"'_Anything_' as in one out of two hundred teenagers in the district?"

"You never know," she retaliated vehemently. "It always comes as a surprise. The prize this year surely was."

Exhaling deeply, I bumped my shoulder into her short frame, snickering as she stumbled slightly. "Just don't think of it, Deedee."

Composing herself quickly and looking around for witnesses, she frowned at me. Shoving me to the side, she grumbled, "I told you not to call me that. We are not four anymore."

I scoffed, jerking my head to a waffle stand up ahead. "You sure about that?"

Delia's eyes widened as a wide smile spread across her face. "Ooh, waffles! Can we get some after reapings?" she asked eagerly. Before I could answer, she waved her hand indifferently. "Why am I even asking you? Of course we're getting waffles after this."

Rolling my eyes, despite the small smile on my lips, I ruffled her hair affectionately. She groused silently and combed through it again with her fingers.

When we arrived in front of the Justice Building, my sister and I parted to sign in. Like every year, I lined up, pricked my finger, they use my blood as identification, and off I went to my own section. The boys around me chatted noisily, and I strained my eyes to look for my girlfriend.

A tap on my shoulder made me turn around. Electric blue eyes belonging to my girlfriend greeted me. "Hey, there. Don't you look all smart today…" she trailed off, flicking my leather jacket.

"It's cold out," I explained simply, pressing a light kiss on her forehead. "You look beautiful yourself," I said, motioning to her dark blue dress that complemented her eyes.

She did a mock curtsy. "Thank you, that was so gentlemanly of you."

"I try," I laughed and scoured the crowd for my twin. "Uh…have you seen Delia?"

Mary-Kate's smile faded a bit as she replied: "She got into a run in with Leesy."

"Oh right, _Lousy_," I heaved irritably, using the name my sister and I came up for her former-best-friend-turned-enemy. "That must've been bad."

"It wasn't actually. Delia just took the high road and walked away," she responded with a smile, and then jumped when a few Peacekeepers shouted from behind her. "Oh. Guess I should be getting back to my row. See you after reapings!"

I nodded as she walked off and waved enthusiastically from afar. I puffed out a breath of relief for some reason, diverting my attention to the heavily dressed woman from the Capitol. A few words were exchanged between her and the unresponsive crowd, and I let my mind flitter about. I didn't quite hear the name she called out for the girls with my mind elsewhere.

When I felt a nudge on my shoulder, I turned to frown at the boy. Instead of an apologetic look, I studied the face of worry from the boy. "Your sister, man."

"My sister what?" I asked warningly, wondering why he was concerned about her.

Then, he lifted his finger to point at the stage. "There."

Turning his head to the stage, I felt my breath caught in my throat. My eyes caught my sister's as she trudged up the stage hesitantly, her eyes darting around maniacally for mine. Time stopped when I realized what was happening—my sister was reaped.

"Delia Evanson! What a beauty. Stand right here, child. There you go," our escort fawned over her, asking her multiple questions as I stared in shock.

I shook my head in disbelief, and instinctively moved forward to get to her. The boy next to me shoved me back, shaking his head in disapproval. I frowned and threw his hand away, my mind still too jumbled up to think. "What's wrong with you? Get off me."

"Don't do anything stupid," was all he said.

"I'm not gonna do anything stupid. I'm not stupid," I retorted heatedly, wanting to stand near my sister. This wasn't supposed to happen. She wasn't supposed to be standing up there. "I need to get to her. Where…where the hell is the volunteer? We're a Career district. Where the hell is the volunteer? Where?"

My head swapped around animatedly, gaining the attention of a few boys. I didn't realize that my voice was gradually rising until a few Peacekeepers caught my eye. In the horrible situation, I didn't really mind. _My sister was reaped!_

"Now, the boys," the escort spoke, a teasing tone in her voice. "Any volunteers?" she asked, almost suspiciously to my ears. My eyebrows knitted as I saw my sister fidgeting restlessly, a concealed look of pure terror on her face. "None? Okay then."

My mind drifted to my sister being in the Games. Yes, she received training but this is different. She was going to fight actual, _living_ human beings. Delia couldn't kill. She couldn't even fight with her tiny stature. Sure, she could throw knives. She _did_ receive training like the rest of District Eight but this...this was the _Hunger Games_! This was _not_ supposed to happen. We were supposed to be getting waffles afterwards, dammit!

The worse part? Our parents weren't even present.

"Dude," the boy next to me elbowed me roughly. "Dude, it's…it's you."

I frowned once again, not comprehending his vague sentence. When I noticed the faces of the boys around me staring at me, added with the surprised cry from Mary-Kate somewhere, it all dawned on me.

"Dylan Evanson?" the lady called. "Come up here, my boy. No need to be shy."

Slowly, like a bag of heavy stones were glued onto my feet, I traipsed to the stage. Passing by the looks from everyone in my path, I bowed my head in shame, not fully sure why. Then it hit me hard—_both_ my twin sister and I were going to be in the games. A sibling-no, _twin_ pairing!

As I stepped onto the stage, I instantly made it to my tearful sister's side. I kept my face devoid of anything as the escort laughed in glee. "Amazing! This years' tributes, everyone!"

Instead of claps, what I heard was a distant shriek. My eyes snapped to the side of the girl's section. My mom was there, clutching my dad's shirt as she cried heavily. Her eyes found mine a she sent a meaningful look, which I disregarded.

'_Oh, so now she shows her face? When we're both reaped?_' I thought angrily.

"Oh my," the escort suddenly squinted her eyes in what—to me, at least—looked like faux curiosity. Without wasting a minute, she placed her excited smile back on her face. "Y-You're siblings!"

Smiling forcedly, I nodded. "Yes we are."

"Oh, isn't this extraordinary!" she chirped. "A pair of siblings reaped! Such a _coincidence_!"

Something in me disagreed. Two siblings—_twins_—from the same family in the entire of District Eight? This couldn't be a coincidence—not at all.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Beetee Latier<strong>_

_District 3_

* * *

><p>Beetee Latier, Victor of both the thirty-eighth Hunger Games and seventy-fifth Hunger Games, sipped his drink slowly on his couch.<p>

It had been twenty-six years since his second Hunger Games win. He wasn't proud to possess title of the only person who could ever say that—the only person in the world who had ever been in the Hunger Games twice.

He had made friends, he had lost allies, and he had unwillingly killed more than he had expected only to survive. He lost Wiress, his close friend and fellow mentor. He electrocuted Johanna, Finnick and Enobaria in the final four, and he returned with the absence of his former associates.

He did it all to stay alive—but frankly, he wouldn't have minded being gone.

Beetee knew that Victors don't receive their promised freedom after winning. They become puppets for the Capitol, and Beetee was no exception. He was forced into producing weapons of mass destruction for the Capitol when he was not mentoring. Why they needed the weapons? He suspected that was for future security.

However, after Beetee was married, the Capitol released him. He was granted the liberty to return to his own daily schedule. He had succeeded in transforming into the country's most prosperous inventor. He had designed various technical items for his district, produced many valuable computer programs, and even tutored a handful of young engineers.

By the time he was fifty-eight, Beetee married an intelligent young woman named Lectra. She died a few years ago, but Beetee hadn't forgotten her. Her most distinct feature was her lovely auburn hair, and it would remain in Beetee's mind for as long as he lived.

Mostly now that he gained two grandchildren with her exact hair color.

Beetee and Lectra managed to conceive one child, even with her being almost forty-five back then. To say that he lived in sheer fear of his son being reaped was a drastic understatement. Much to his surprise, his son, Linux Latier, escaped the dreadful claws of the Hunger Games.

Linux was never reaped, much to Beetee's joy. After Linux got married, Beetee finally accepted the fact that the Capitol had let him go. He laid down all his defenses and enjoyed his life with no fear in his thought.

Chroma, Linux's wife, was the perfect daughter in law to Beetee. She was smart, polite, one of District Three's top young software designers. She charmed both Beetee and Lectra immediately. She gave birth to a bright boy, Bayder. Just like Bayder's father and grandfather, he obtained a natural love for technology. Chroma did her best to help Bayder in his studies whenever Linux wasn't around. She was a great mother.

Unfortunately, that all changed when she became pregnant with her second child.

Merrilees Bayder was born prematurely, and unexpectedly. Chroma had multiple complications, such as pelvis pains and second-degree tears. She was fixed as time passed, but she then gained an addiction to Morphling. Blaming Merrilees for her constant pain and situation, she turned into a very bitter woman.

If it weren't for Beetee's weekly visit to them, Merrilees and Bayder might both be dead. Chroma went too far one day that she almost murdered her children, all rational thought consumed by her own torturous, lingering pains.

With Beetee's status, he sent her to a psychiatric ward in the Capitol. Doctors promised them that she would be cured, but it had been five years.

No news came.

Beetee was now seventy-six years old, with grey hairs adorning his scalp. He was crippled, often ill, and forgetful. There were some things that he would never forget though, no matter how longingly he wished for it. Now, as he sat in front of his TV, watching the reapings, his train of thought was only on his two remarkable grandchildren.

Their district's escort arrived on stage, and after a few minutes of empty talk, she was finally announcing the girl tribute. It took Beetee's aged brain a moment to comprehend the name she called out. When he did, the glass of water in his grip fell, and shattered.

"Merrilees Latier," the woman announced, the vivid colors of her costume suddenly dimmed by her bright smile. "Come up here, darling!"

Beetee leaned forward, eyes wide and his heart pounding erratically. _No, _he thought. _It couldn't be_.

His eyes focused on the screen as a young girl, looking barely twelve, hopped onto the stage. The glimmer of her long auburn locks cascading down her back struck Beetee with indescribable ache and disbelief. He shook his head and muttered over and over, "No."

The young girl smiled nervously as the cameras zoomed in on her trying to hold back her sniffs.

The escort, who's name escaped Beetee's knowledge, grinned. "And for the boys-"

"I volunteer!"

Beetee's heart broke once more as an elder boy stepped forward, his unmistakable large rims and dark red hair drawing Beetee's attention. Beetee felt his breathing go hazard as both his grandchildren hugged on stage, silently exchanging words.

"How glorious!" the escort cheered, clapping her hands. "Both the grand kids of the famous Beetee Latier, aren't you?"

"Yes," answered the bigger of the two hesitantly. He fixed his glasses, reminding Beetee much of himself and his son.

"No, this can't be…" Beetee breathed out, shaking his head. Not his two grandchildren. Not the sweet, shy Merrilees who was only twelve. And not even Bayder; the young, promising prodigy that he, himself, was fond off. They were the two grandchildren he loved. They were all he had left besides his busy son. _They don't deserve this_.

As his breathing turned harsher, he realized one of his many panic disorders, obtained by his old age. He called for his in-house maid, hoping she was around. "Annea! Annea…help!" Beetee tried standing up, struggling to find any form assistance. "Help me," he uttered croakily before falling to his knees.

The horrifying thoughts of his lovely grandchildren entering the Hunger Games shocked him incredibly; his could feel his heart beating wickedly fast. His throat clogged up as he tried to breathe in, to no avail. His chest tightened as he laid on his back, struggling to remain attached to reality.

In his last moments, Beetee thought of the Capitol. How foolish of him to think that they would actually grant him peace. His son might have eluded their clutches, but now _both_ of his grandchildren were in their hands.

_They never left me_, thought Beetee as he wheezed out painful exhalations of air.

The sharp talons of the Capitol will always remained clawed into every victor, no matter the age. And Beetee was no exception.

He had let himself forget. The luck he had hoped for never came. Just like the whiteness clouding over Beetee's vision, the Capitol blinded him.

And with one last, empty, ragged gasp, Beetee Latier's life ended.

* * *

><p><strong>That was not District 6, sorry. I've decided to change my plans. It was District 8 and District 3! Thanks to <strong>_**ashleyashley**_** and **_**somberrimshot**_** respectively for the pairs. I hope this chapter was okay, and the fact that D8 is a Career district doesn't bother you. Please tell me what you think through a review since I love…reviews…I do. :)**

**Thanks for reading!**


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